


and the heat goes on

by bevcrushers (dothraloki)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-19 01:50:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11303259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dothraloki/pseuds/bevcrushers
Summary: Kira stops at this and slowly, deliberately slowly, puts away her Starfleet issued tricorder before turning to look at her in the eye. “Let's get one thing straight, Starfleet,” she spits the word like it's poison. “I might have to work with you but that doesn't mean I have to like you, and it certainly doesn't mean I have to be your friend.”--au where jadzia is starfleet and kira is maquis





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> so i started writing this a while back but i deleted it because it went abandoned for a while. i still haven't finished it and i'm posting in sections, so i can't promise anything but i'll definitely try.

In all of Jadzia's years of piloting she's never seen a move like it.

The Maquis ship tucks and rolls into a nosedive, knocking off their starboard nacelle as it does, executing a manoeuvre that Jadiza thinks should be called “If I'm going down, you're coming with me.” And after that it's show's over folks. A coupling in the warp core goes offline, cutting out thrusters and impulse as it does, and then the deflector dish and then helm, in a perfect domino effect.

If Jadzia's being honest, a small part of her is in awe at the efficiency of the tactic because it's so simple, so smooth and yet so effective – she couldn't have hoped to pull something like that off if she tried. And there's nothing she can do – nothing anyone can do but send a sub-space message back to the nearest starbase and brace for impact.

 –

It's class M. Jadzia has her tricorder out reading the atmosphere levels before she's barely out of the hatchway. The landscape is grassy, hilly and flanked by forests that grow dense and thick. With any luck, she thinks, they'll be able to find fruit and vegetables to live from.

The crew files out in stunned silence, grasping at their phasers as if they're expecting a fight. A few of the lower ranking officers are huddled together darting furtive glances over their shoulders. She can tell - hell anyone could tell  - that it's their first mission, and stab of sympathy runs through her. She could try and comfort them with empty words like “we'll get through this” or “a ship will pick us up, don't worry about it” - but they're just that: empty. They might be low-ranking but they've still Starfleet officers with Starfleet training – they know better than to ride on desperate faith. She grips a comforting hand on one their shoulders as she passes anyway.

The ones who are really in trouble, the ones who she feels really sorry for are the Maquis because when she spots the captain striding out of the hatchway, he's wearing a look of muted fury. She's seen Ben angry before – experienced it first-hand, even, more than a couple of times, but this is not anger, this is _fury._ There'll be no bloodshed tonight, Jadzia's certain of that.

 –

The Maquis are wary, bordering on paranoid. They pointedly, almost aggressively distrust  Starfleet, even after the talk, or rather the speech Ben had given about working together to salvage the best of the situation. She watches them watch the crew, muttering in hushed voices, no doubt planning tactics. _They think themselves heroes_ , Jadzia realises. It's an obvious conclusion to draw, all resistance groups see themselves as the heroes, but this – this runs deeper than that. They truly, truly believe it. _In their perspective,_ Jadzia thinks, _in their story it's us who are the villains._  

One of them catches her eye. A Bajoran woman with fiery red hair and a disposition that would horrify most of the Starfleet higher ups. She's Maquis through and through, Jadzia can see it, from the way she holds herself as if posturing for a fight, to the grim set line of her jaw. They hold each other's gaze for a moment that drags on longer than it should, and then she, the Bajoran – as if she's catching herself – turns abruptly.

 Jadzia's unsure what to think of it.

 -

Jadzia spends half the day trying to modify the SOS beacon in order to get their message to penetrate the interference in upper atmosphere and the other half cracking crass jokes to dispirited looking ensigns.

The worst thing – the very worst thing in a situation as unfamiliar and as foreign as this is to become so apathetic that you become unwary. Telling jokes that make fresh-faced twenty-four years olds groan and blush might not be the Starfleet method, and Ben certainly looks uncomfortable with it, but that's part of the fun as far as Jadzia's concerned, and it does the job well enough.

“We haven't got a response from the starbase seven-six-two,” Ensign Hawkins says later, as they roll out their makeshift beds. It's not an observation, Jadzia notes, despite the way it's framed - it's a question.

 “No,” she agrees. “There's still time though. Still plenty of time.”

They get the fire going by mid-evening that night, and sit around it camp style, toasting emergency rations in the flames and telling old cliché ghost stories. Jadzia wonders how long the merriment will last.

-

Two days. Two days of sleeping at opposite ends of the plains. Two days of “negotiations” - if you could even call it that. Two days of outright, hostile distrust before the Maquis start recognising the fact that they're both stuck in this same exact crappy situation. Jadzia tries her best to accommodate them in the same way she does the lower-ranking officers, with a filthy quip and a cheeky wink.  A few of them lighten up, some even joke with her. The Bajoran red-head – Kira - does neither.

Jadzia, truth be told, wouldn't even care - it's only that they keep getting paired together to provide cave samples and collect rations, otherwise Kira would be little more than a blip on her radar. This way, though, she has to face it: the stoic, resoluteness of her demeanour, the barely concealed hatred in her eyes. No - Jadzia's not stupid enough to think it's personal, nor egocentric enough. She knows full well it's what Jadzia _stands_ _for;_ that's what Kira takes exception to, but either way Kira can't open up to it, to _Jadzia_ , she can't let herself be swayed because that would be swaying from her ideals. To her there's nothing more important, more sacred than her ideals.

 Jadzia gets it. She got it the minute they laid eyes on one another, but that doesn't mean she has to like it.


	2. two

The first time they work together, Jadzia doesn't say anything, just observes. They work in near silence, broken only when it's entirely necessary. They work like moving parts in a machine – asking questions and providing answers in rapid succession, passing data samples from one to another. Sometimes, discreetly, Jadzia watches the taut line of Kira's back, the constant militaristic stance she holds herself in, the cool, dispassionate tone of her voice.  _There's a story there_ , she thinks.

The second time is different. The second time she can't help herself. 

They're stood in the lower caves, ankle deep in mud and animal waste, running scan after scan after scan. Jadzia's tired and irritated and sore, and every time she says something, Kira responds with “acknowledged,” as if she can't even deign it with a proper response. 

The fifth time she does it, Jadzia's rounding the corner into Kira's chamber, before the words have even fully left her mouth. Kira glances up at the sound of footsteps before looking down at her screen. “What's the problem?” 

“Oh,” says Jadzia. “So you  _can_  use other words then?” 

Kira frowns. “I'm not following.” 

“'Acknowledged.' That's all you ever say,” says Jadzia. She sounds childish and petulant, she knows, but they're already this far. She balances her hand on her hip and tries for charismatic rather than confrontational. “You know, we might be here for a while.” 

Kira huffs out a snort and goes back to working. “So?” 

“So. Maybe we  _should_  talk more.” 

Kira stops at this and slowly, deliberately slowly, puts away her Starfleet issued tricorder before turning to look at her in the eye. “Let's get one thing straight,  _Starfleet,”_ she spits the word like it's poison. “I might have to work with you but that doesn't mean I have to like you, and it certainly doesn't mean I have to be your friend.”

\--

_That night Jadzia dreams. They're on a lake on some nondescript planet - her and the previous Dax hosts - all piling on to an old-fashioned boat, like the kind from ancient stories. Lela gets in first, then Tobin, then Emony, Audrid, Torias, Joran and Curzon and lastly Jadzia, shoving her knees up to her chest to fit in the cramped space left for her. At first, the boat drifts lazily down the lake and it's kind of relaxing, peaceful almost, but then it starts gaining speed and the lake becomes a river, and the boat is starting to lose control, the wood buckling and splintering under the stress of their combined weight._

_“_ _It's too heavy, someone needs to get off!” Curzon's yelling over the sound of the water. Jadzia knows straight away it has to be her, she was the last one on, so she has to be the first one off, but she doesn't want to – she's afraid of the water._  

 _“_ _Jadzia,” they're all shouting over and over. Hands pushing at her, grabbing hold of her skin hard enough to bruise, yelling her name. Somebody's screaming – it's her, she realises, and then she's losing her gripping and tumbling into endless, freezing white._

 She starts awake with a choked gasp. The numbness in her blood beginning to dissipate as she blinks back her nightmare. She sits up for a moment in her makeshift bed, trying to catch her breath, but the dream lingers, unsettling.

There's a light on in the distance. Slowly, unsteadily she makes her way towards the main campfire where she can still see Benjamin pouring himself over his PADD. 

“What're you working on?” she says in lieu of a greeting. The blank look on his face transforms into a smile when he spots her, and he nods to the seat opposite. 

“Just some data. Nothing important.” 

She takes the seat. “Mm. Is that why you're up so late?” 

Ben grins. She likes that smile – it's warm and familiar and it thaws the ice in her stomach. “Never mind me,” he says. “Why are  _you_ up so late?” 

Jadzia shrugs. “Bad dream. I guess I have a lot on my mind.”

Ben looks at her, looks  _through_ her for a moment, and then he's leaning forward, shoulders relaxing. “Did I ever tell you about the time I almost burned down a forest in Arizona?”

 “No,” she says, leaning forward too. “But you're gonna.” 

“Well I was a kid -  fourteen, fifteen years old, my old man took me on a trip, just me and him. It was supposed to be a wilderness camping trip, like people used to do in the old days. He didn't want us to just use a holodeck or something like that, he wanted me to have the “proper experience,” Benjamin’s smirks at that, gaze drifting away as he remembers. “So we took all our stuff, put it one of those big backpacks and went walking. When we made our camp my dad tells me “Benny, if I'm pitching the tent, you're starting the fire.” So I try to start the fire the old way - rubbing two sticks together, and I want this fire to work so much because it's our camping trip and I want it to go well, but nothing happens. Nothing at all. Not for two hours. I use the hair trick, the mirror trick, the glass trick – any trick you can think of, all the while my dad's offering to just do it for me because he's getting tired of watching, but I have too much pride you see, I want to do it myself.”

 Jadzia laughs. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

 “And then it happens,” he says, turning to her suddenly. “Out of nowhere. At that point I'd reached frustrated, passed right through it – I was barely even trying and this great flame went up. But I don't know what happened – it was a freak occurrence. Maybe the atmosphere was too dry. All I know is that the flame went up and a tree nearby caught fire, from the trunk, spreading right up to the leaves and then it was like dominoes, one tree after another."

 Jadzia props her chin on her hand. “And then?”

 Ben looks at her. “And then my dad commed the fire department and they put the fire out. I got burned up a little but nothing that a dermal regenerator couldn't fix. But that moment, when all the trees caught fire – it'll stay with me. It was more than what I bargained for.”

 Jadzia considers it carefully, turns it over in her mind. “A little ham-fisted," she grins. "But I think I understand.”

 Ben tries for innocence. “Understand what?”

-


	3. three

Jadzia keeps her distance.

It's not hard, ultimately Kira is as much of a stranger as every other Maquis, but it's such an odd thing, to be actively hated.

It burns at her more than she expected it would. She's been disliked, plenty disliked, and she was fine with that. People weren't always going to like you and she had made her peace with that a long time ago, Jadzia wasn't a people-pleaser and she never would be. This - with Kira - this was a different beast, though, or at least, it felt like it.

She spends the next couple of days on board the Defiant trying to re-align the warp core. It's of course a futile effort, there's no way it's going to work not while the computer is barely functioning, but it's something to keep her hands busy and her brain active. Mostly though, she's trying to stay away. It's ridiculous when she analyses it. Jadzia is old, Dax ancient. To be so thoroughly discouraged, intimidated by a woman that she's known for less than a week, and is probably going to fade out of her life the minute they reach orbit is almost inexcusable. 

–

 She makes a mistake a day later when Benjamin and the Maquis leader team them up again to survey the mountains. 

“Dax, you're with Kira here,” he says, tossing the Bajoran – Kira – a backpack filled with supplies. “You two make an efficient team.” He doesn't catch the look on Jadzia's face, and it's probably for the best. 

It's a long trek. Jadzia distracts herself from the lack of conversation by focusing instead on her surroundings. The sky is a startling blue overhead, clouds streaking lazily leaving wispy trails behind, and the path incline grows steep. Snow settles lightly at the higher peaks and Jadzia wraps her arms around herself as a chill begins to descend around them. All in all – it's beautiful. Shore leave worthy, even. It's a shame they crash landed here without any reassurance that the nearest starbase had gotten their subspace message, because otherwise she might've actually begun to enjoy it.

“You start there,” Kira says once they reach the plateau, her voice a harsh contrast to the soft atmosphere around them. “I'm going around the other side.”

“Yes sir,” Jadzia mutters back. 

-

 

They've been working for barely thirty minutes when Kira lets out a sudden gasp of pain. Jadzia follows the noise and finds her half sat half slumped next to a rock, nursing her ankle.

“You alright?” 

“Yeah, it's just my ankle,"she bares her teeth against the pain. “It's fine.” 

Jadzia snorts. “Don't be an idiot,” she bends down, inspecting it for herself. “Looks like a sprain to me.” 

“Oh what -  you're a doctor now?” 

Jadzia meets her with an even look. “Well, I took medical training at Starfleet.”

Kira rolls her eyes. “Just leave it. I'll be fine.”

“Are you out of your mind? I'm not just going to leave you here to fend for yourself.” It's the wrong thing to say, Jadzia knows it as soon as the words leave her mouth. “To fend for yourself” -  it makes her sound weak, helpless. Kira's eyes flash, and Jadzia squares her shoulders and tips her chin, awaiting the explosion. 

It doesn't come.

Kira just sighs more out of resignation than genuine anger. “You're obnoxious and arrogant.”

“Well, while we're trading insults: you're obstinate and bullheaded,” says Jadzia. “Now I'm sorry, but you're going to have to hold on. We're going back down to the camp.”

Kira huffs out another sigh but drapes her arm across Jadzia's neck, allowing her to take her weight. Jadzia tentatively grips her by the waist and they start making their way slowly, painfully down the mountain. 

“I'm surprised you're doing this,” Kira says, not long after. Her tone is an odd mixture of distrust and amazement and it cuts into Jadzia in a way that it _shouldn't_ – 

“I'm surprised you're actually talking to me,” Jadzia counters with far more fire than she'd expected. 

“Sarcasm doesn't look good on you,” Kira snaps. 

Jadzia's about to tell her exactly what she thinks of Kira's opinion when an ominous crackle of thunder overheard interrupts her. 

“Looks like rain,” she says, eyeing the dark clouds passing overhead. “We're never going to make it down to base.” 

“What would your _starfleet training_ have you do?” Kira sneers, clinging desperately onto her neck. 

Jadzia studiously ignores her tone. “We need to find shelter.”


	4. four

The rain comes down heavy outside the mouth of the cave. Jadzia frustratedly tosses aside the damp sticks that she'd been trying to start a fire with for the last half hour.

 “Should've taken my phaser with me,” she mutters and turns towards Kira, huddled on the opposite wall as if she's doesn't want to be near her and it's so juvenile Jadzia can't help but roll her eyes at it. “How you holding up?”

“Fine,” Kira says tersely, trying to keep the shiver out of her voice. “My ankle's better when I don't move it.”

Jadzia sheds her overshirt and tosses it Kira's direction. “Here.”

“I don't want your shirt,” says Kira.

“Freeze to death, then,” Jadzia replies. 

Kira's forehead wrinkles. “If you're so indifferent, why didn't you just leave me on the top of the mountain and go get help?” 

“I'm not indifferent, and I'm not cruel. What I am is sick of your attitude,” Jadzia says, pulling out rations from Kira's backpack. 

“My attitude?” 

“Yes,” Jadzia meets her furious gaze. “Your “Starfleet is evil, don't talk to me” attitude. I get it – we're the enemy - but if you’d take a look around you'll see we're not actually doing anything to you.”

“ _You hunted us down across half the quadrant_ ,” Kira's anger burst out of her. “And now you want to be friends?”

“And _you_ knocked out our starboard nacelle and stranded us both here,” Jadzia glares down at her. She's all too aware of the fact that they're leaning into each other's space, Jadzia on her knees hovering over Kira's sprawled out body. She makes no attempt to move. 

Kira struggles to sit up. “You were the ones who attacked us in the first place – it was self-defense.” 

“It was pettiness,” Jadzia snaps, “Pure and simple.”  

Kira’s glaring at her like she doesn’t know what to do with herself, like there’s a war being waged internally -  and then, in one fluid motion, she’s reaching across and kissing her – kissing her in the way she argues, fierce and competitive.

Jadzia kisses back almost instinctively – giving as good as she gets. She grips the back of Kira's neck, threading her fingers through short red hair, as she opens her mouth to the kiss. Kira's all tongues and teeth, nipping at her bottom lip and it's dizzying – overwhelming, but Jadzia can't let the kiss stop, can't let them come back to themselves. She gives herself over to sensation, letting Kira drag at her ponytail, pulling her head up to mouth at her jawline and Jadzia lets out an inadvertent gasp. 

This is enough, apparently, to bring them back to their senses. Kira breaks apart first, turning her head and pressing her fingers against red kiss-bitten lips. 

“Forget this happened.” 

Jadzia's voice is carefully flat when she says, “Fine.”

 –

 

They don't talk.

They don't talk for at least two weeks. Jadzia returns to the Defiant with a renewed energy divulging all her time in getting the computer back online while Kira mends her sprained ankle and it's fine – everything's fine.

She spends her lunchtimes with Julian or Benjamin making idle conversation under the shade of the trees, and her evenings scrupulously programming and reprogramming the consoles with Miles and she slowly forgets – forgets the hot feeling in her stomach every time she looks at Kira, and the heady drunk way she makes her feel. 

It's all starting to come together. They've got the computer back online which means that the warp core is a done thing and the feeling of excitement, the hope that maybe they'll actually get out of this after all, begins to takes over. But then the storm comes. It's like nothing Jadzia's ever seen before. It ravages the landscape, tearing down trees, throwing boulders from rock faces. They watch from the mouth of the cave as the wind carries the shuttle to bits. Miles' groan is audible from where he's crouched next to Julian on the far side of the cave, and Jadzia drops her head into her hands. All that work – gone.

 “Don't worry, old man,” Ben's voice comes from somewhere behind her, his palm landing warm on her shoulder. “We'll get her back. Good as new in no time.”

 They're empty words, of course. Even from where Jadzia's sat, the shuttle doesn't look salvageable. Jadzia's thankful for them anyway.

 –

It feels suffocating. It takes her a long time to put her finger on it, to find the right word. By most regards, Jadzia doesn't ever  _feel_ suffocated – she lets herself be carried like the wind from one thing to another and enjoys the ride, she doesn't worry, she doesn't get anxious, she's too old for that.  And looking at the landscape of this planet, it's so open and wild. The grasses grow for miles around, there's no way anybody could feel suffocated here, not with the mild breeze all around you and the vast sky above _–_ and yet it claws at her in a way she can't describe, makes her feel clammy and sweaty and sick.

–

On the eve of their fourth week there, she finds herself sat out on the rocks overlooking the camp at four-hundred hours in the morning, mindlessly fusing together wires for the console. She finds it difficult sleeping in the camp – there are too many limbs entangled, too many bodies pressed up together. Here though, out on the rocks, she feels as if she can finally breathe. 

Times like this, when the pace of the day slows and Jadzia finds herself alone with her thoughts, she begins to think of home. Funny that she thinks of Deep Space 9, that uncomfortable Cardassian eyesore, as her home - if you’d have told her even a month ago that she’d be longing for Quark’s bar, Garak’s shop, the bustle of the promenade, she might have even laughed. But now, here, she thinks about the people she’s left behind and she hopes more than anything that she’ll see them all again. 

It doesn’t do her any good to think like this. 

She focuses on the wind instead. She lets herself be still. 

A rustle from somewhere behind startles her, and then a voice, wary and uncertain – one she recognises instantly. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realise you were up here.” 

“Yes,” she says carefully. “ I am.”

“I can come back when you’re finished.” 

“Don’t be silly,” says Jadzia. She turns now, takes in the sight of that fiery red hair, that set line of her jaw. “There’s enough room up here for the both of us.” 

Kira doesn’t move. 

Jadzia holds her hands up in mock surrender. “I won’t try to talk to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Kira breathes out a sigh that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle - or maybe it’s just wishful thinking. She moves to the far end of path, taking a seat on the rocks. 

“How’s your ankle?” Jadzia asks, finally. 

“Fine,” Kira doesn’t look at her.” Thanks. For your help.” 

Jadzia shrugs. “Anytime.” 

A beat of silence passes between them. 

“Look,” says Kira. Her voice softens a little. “You’re Starfleet.” 

“The enemy,” Jadzia looks at her. “I understand.” 

“I don’t think you do,” says Kira. “It’s not an abstract idea of you that I find so nauseating. This isn’t just about my _principles_. It’s the reality of what you do. To some us, Starfleet are no better than the Cardassians.”

“Do you believe that?” Jadzia asks. 

Kira says nothing, still staring out at the moorland below. 

“To the Federation the Maquis are terrorists, so blinded by zeal that you’re bent on dragging us into another war,” Jadzia says. 

“Do you believe that?” says Kira. 

Jadzia shrugs. “I think it’s complicated.” 

“I don’t,” Kira turns to her, finally. She’s wearing an expression that shames Jadzia - one that’s equal parts pain, sadness and anger. “I think it’s perfectly simple, because this is personal to me. See, that’s the difference between the Maquis and Starfleet. It doesn’t matter about what you _think_ or what you _feel_ when you blindly follow the chain of command.” 

“I know that Starfleet isn’t perfect,” says Jadzia. “I wouldn’t pretend otherwise.” 

“But you still follow orders,” Kira’s voice hardens now, but she doesn’t shout. “You still break bread with the Cardassians and hunt us down - out of cowardice, because you fear what might happen if the Cardassians take a dislike to you. But you see, Commander, the Cardassians have _always_ disliked me.”

“I don’t see it as cowardice if we’re avoiding another war,” says Jadzia, carefully. “I don’t think the cost of the last one was in any way insignificant. I don’t think that what we do is always right. But if it means peace – “

“It’s fascinating to hear you rationalise it,” says Kira. She stands up now, dark eyes turn on her accusingly. “I have no doubt that if things were different, then maybe - "

She cuts herself off abruptly, Jadzia watches her. 

“But unfortunately, I can’t just put politics aside. When I look at you, Commander, I see the Starfleet uniform, and from where I’m standing, you’re on the wrong side.”

 -


End file.
